What have I done but love you?
I’m not an enemy to your soul.
Covetous hearts created this divide,
while coddling indifference.
They scattered us, you and I, like pieces,
their insouciance causing abstract of what this could be.
Category: Poetry
I Can See You Again
I could not hold my breath any longer,
your back to me that day.
I expected so many things until,
until that moment when you turned,
to shed a tear so real
…it still hurts.
Reaching…
I’ve done what I have promised against.
The cross I bear weighs heavy with fault.
I’m sentenced to wander,
hopeless and trapped in self-pity,
with only regret to keep me company.
Tibbs
By the rickety rim, farewell till the morrow.
Moonlit, as stones were kicked.
Our colloquies went on.
Foolish I,
you…
the antics,
ne’er be by flesh more longer,
but by souls,
still sit nightly.
Am I still?
Am I still…
a string of your heart?
Or does it lie frayed, too torn apart.
Seasoned now, but still we’re broken,
enough has always been, left unspoken.
See my light, I’ve been casting in hope,
I swear this absence has no cope.
Our detached strings will again accrete,
I won’t stop trying until I feel your beat.
We were the Warriors
Indolent Saturdays poking things with sticks.
We ran the back hills of our home.
Three soldier foray, we flanked…pretending.
Skinned knees and eye pokes, no bother,
as we’d rather dare and tell more lies.
Disturbed
Ululating beasts disturb the rem of my fantasy.
I lie cowering from the tap, tap, tapping.
Scads of hurt chase sweet dreams into nightmares
…just this time don’t awaken me.
Weathered
A haloed nimbus, like a surge, it comes on without forecast.
Emotions raw, cold, the flashes like lightning.
Still I have neither a hand to squeeze, nor an ear to my voice.
Nothings protected but my foolish promise to you.
Those furtive actions lie forever buried in the sands of time,
like your lifeless soul that erodes with the winds of change.
For a Spell
Quotidian stories they share,
sitting shoulder to shoulder.
Those confabulating chaps
with their doddery routine,
fidget on a bench of stone.
Each muster for a spell,
hoary old fellows chinwag
anecdotes to their nature,
as I eves-dropped for a tale.
The Rain Made Me Do It
I surveil the abstract of raindrops as they slither the outside pane
its journey, merely a moment in time
each tiny drop…
they dazzle like fireworks synchronizing with my deluge of thoughts now cached from a once juvenile me
I beam with the sound of the pitter-patter
the torrent tone lulls me to a reminiscent state as I recall the stories of my olden
Earth To Ash 